Fallen
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Sequel to Six Months In, Six Months Out. The crossroads demon has returned to claim Dean, but Sam can't let go of his brother that easily. Rated T for language and a few later scenes.
1. Chapter 1: Worst Nightmares

_This is a continuation of "Six Months In, Six Months Out," and picks up right where that one left off: the crossroads demon has come to claim Dean. It is __**strongly**__ advised that you read that story first. It sets the tone for this one._

_This storyline was inspired by Phx, so I send out a big thank you to her! Fair warning: things are going to get a little dark. _

_Thanks also to Faye Dartmouth, who was kind enough to beta this one._

_I own nothing. Reviews craved. _

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Last time, at the end of "Six Months In, Six Months Out":

"_Well, this is touching," a female voice interrupted._

_Dean cringed, knowing the voice must belong to the demon._

_Time was up._

**Fallen**

**Chapter 1: Worst Nightmares**

The new voice made them both jump. Dean turned to see a fairly attractive redhead, standing about five feet from them. He wondered if this demon ever used the same body twice. She was smirking at them, reddish eyes glinting in the moonlight. Dean glanced at Sam, who was staring the "woman" down with unabashed hatred in his eyes.

"I'm glad you didn't run, Dean," she purred, "saves the hounds a lot of time and effort."

Dean shook his head, not willing to trade jibes with her. "Let's just get this over with."

He felt Sam tense beside him. "No…"

She turned an amused gaze on Sam. "Still a little denial going around?"

Dean stepped forward, partially blocking his brother. "Leave him alone. Just do it and get out of here."

She just shrugged.

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Much to Sam's shock, there was no ritual, no bright lights or loud sounds, or anything else. One minute, Dean was standing next to him, alive, the next, he crumpled to the ground, like the proverbial puppet with its strings cut. Even though the rational part of his mind knew immediately what had occurred, he still looked down in shock.

"Dean…?"

There was no answer. Sam dropped to his knees, realizing only when he was closer that Dean was no longer breathing. The horror sank in, while he stared into Dean's now lifeless, and still open, eyes. His brother was just…gone.

The rational part of him, the part that wanted to obey Dean's last wishes, told him that he should close Dean's eyes---it was the respectful thing to do---so he did. He loved his brother, and he'd do anything for him.

The irrational part of him, the part that had driven so hard and relentlessly to find a way out of this deal, refused to let Dean go without a fight. He hated the one who had taken Dean away, and he'd do anything to change this.

Anger swelled in him. Uncontrollable, soul-splitting rage. He brought his fist down on Dean's unmoving chest as hard as he could. The flesh didn't respond. Not a flinch, nothing. Sam lowered his forehead onto the spot he had struck, silently begging forgiveness.

"You shouldn't have done this," he gritted into Dean's coat, "how could you do this?!"

_Don't get mad at me. Don't you do that._

"Damn it, Dean. Why?"

_I had to. I had to look out for you._

Rage began to give way to grief, and Sam wanted to die right there, on the road beside his brother. But Dean had hidden the bullets.

He'd find more; it was as simple as that.

The sound of someone's foot crunching gravel caught his attention. By the time he'd raised his head to look, the anger was back. _The demon. That fucking bitch of a demon_.

Something shifted inside his skull. He didn't know what it was. He didn't care. Whatever it was, it was like a dam breaking. He rose and started walking.

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The demon turned away. Dean was hers now, at least for a little while. She couldn't wait to get him back to Hell. She'd take a lot of pleasure in taking her cut of this deal. Right off the top. A piece of Dean Winchester, for her very own---

Advancing footsteps behind her made her pause. _Figures_, she thought, _they're both so pathetically needy…._

She stopped, cocking her head when the stalking steps behind her slowed and then stopped as well.

"I can't keep making deals for you two," she sighed, exasperated. These two never knew when to quit. "It doesn't work that way. If it did, people would be making deals forever and nothing would ever get done."

The voice that replied was Sam's, but was about as far removed from the weepy, distraught man she'd heard earlier as she was from a Girl Scout.

"No deals. Give him back."

Surprised by the belligerence, she turned, expecting to see Sam holding a gun at her head, or some other wholly pointless gesture. Instead, she saw only Sam, glowering. Had she been human, she supposed, his looming height might have proven intimidating at that moment. The murderous light in his eyes would have turned most mortal creatures to jelly. But she wasn't easily intimidated, especially not by _humans_.

"Sorry, Sammy…he made his choice."

He cocked his head, and she was again surprised…this time by the fact that the gravel on the road was _shaking_. She glanced down at it in fascination. It was as if there was a minor earthquake underway. He stepped closer.

"Maybe. But, you don't have one. Give him back. He's _mine_. You have no right to him."

She smirked, somewhat curious over the change in this human, but not overly concerned. "Read the fine print, handsome. He weasels out; you go back to being dead."

"He's not weaseling out. You're giving him back. NOW!"

Her amusement ended. This human might be powerful---somehow---but she'd been around a lot longer, and she played by the rules. Most of the time. But, when she opened her mouth to tell Dean's impudent brother what to go do with himself…she couldn't.

He was choking her. Not her human host. _Her_. The inky black cloud that was her true form began to leak out of the human she'd taken as a skin. She tried to reel herself back in, but she was hemorrhaging out too fast. Before she could stop it, she was extricated from the young woman's body, and she soon found herself floating just above the road, in front of the furious, grief-stricken young man.

"Return my brother, or you're going to die…."

Her answered wheezed directly into his mind. "You kill me…he'll never come back…."

There was some sort of shift in Sam's mind, she felt it. It was like a switch flipping. When he spoke, the words seemed to pierce her form like blades.

"Fine. I won't kill you."

Incomprehensibly, pain sparked along the edges of her consciousness, mind-rending, world-eclipsing _pain_.

"Give him back to me, and I'll end this," he offered. The cold words were almost congenial. Almost.

"I-- I can't--- There has to be a trade...it's the rules," she stammered.

The pain that lapped at her like flames flared, shaking her to the core of her incorporeal being. Sam's voice, impossibly, turned colder. "All you needed to free Evan Hudson was Dean's word to let you out of that devil's trap."

Reality for the demon began to warp. She felt herself beginning the process that would return Dean Winchester to his body. Confusion turned to shock when she realized that Sam was forcing her to do his bidding.

Appalled at the violation of her self-control, she fought back, but the pain grew exponentially when she did. Regardless of the agony that washed over her concsciousness, she continued to resist, until finally she could fight no more. Her will bent until it broke, and she did as Sam commanded her.

She placed Dean back where she got him. She felt the life spark back into the still body on the road with a startled gasp. Horrified at her subjugation, she turned her attention back to the younger brother, remembering with awful clarity the way her yellow-eyed comrade had talked about him.

_Sammy's very special to me…._

_He's the one. At least, the one _my_ money's on…._

_I suspect Dean will do anything to change it…even come to you. When he does, do what he asks. Make it worth your while, of course. I don't care about the brother's fate. _

_Return Sam as he is, with those paralyzing subconscious memories of death…I think that'll do nicely_….

As she hovered before the human so favored by her fellow demon, she began to understand why he was so special. She'd kept tabs on the psychic children being brought to Cold Oak. Not for much reason beyond her own curiosity.

Ava had to fight to control demons. Jake wasn't very good at it at all…he was better at controlling the minds of these pathetic flesh-bags.

But Sam Winchester….

Sam was controlling her _effortlessly_, even if he was only vaguely aware of it through the walls of his grief. She could sense the power building in his mind, overwhelming him. She wondered if he was even conscious at this point, or just acting on instinct.

Fearful of angering the all-too-powerful psychic, she mustered her most congenial tone and spoke directly into his mind.

"There. It's done. Release me, please."

The cold, piercing hatred that had enveloped her didn't lessen. If anything, it got worse, and she really started worrying.

"You made a wise choice."

A moment's relief flooded her being. But, only a moment's. She began to feel invisible talons clawing at her. When the blast came, it totally blindsided her.

Sam tore her apart with a thought.

As the dismembered pieces of her consciousness began to fade away, she recognized the chilling approach of death. Few of her ilk knew the sensation anymore, but she recognized it from centuries of deal-making and overseeing the payoffs of countless souls.

She had never expected it to be her own that she felt. And her last thought was one of disbelief before the darkness took her.

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Sam blinked a few times; his eyes were dry and hurting, like they'd been open for a long time. The blurred vision slowly cleared and he tried to get his bearings.

Somehow he'd ended up on his knees on the gravel road. His head was pounding, similar to the aftermath of one of his visions, but stronger, more painful. Even the sound of his breathing grated against his raw nerves.

Something wet and sour was dripping down his face. When he wiped at it with his hand, the appendage came back bloody. _What's going on?_ The last thing he remembered was kneeling over Dean---

Dean.

Dean was dead.

He had been kneeling over his dead brother.

_Oh God, no…DEAN!_

Sam turned, forcing himself to his feet and looking back toward the parked Impala. Dean rested just where Sam remembered him, and the young man's world shattered all over again. Grief and pain washed over him like a tide, and he was just about to let go and collapse back to the ground when he saw it.

Dean's chest rose.

Then it fell.

Then the cycle repeated.

Dean was breathing.

Despair turned to surprise, then to shock. Dean was alive. But how? The deal had been completed, Sam was sure of that. But, his brother was breathing not twenty feet from him.

Wasn't he? Or, was this all a delusion? Maybe he'd gone crazy out here. Thinking back a few days, he couldn't dismiss the notion out of hand.

Pushing aside his confusion and doubt, he struggled to put one foot in front of the other and move forward. He had to get to Dean and see if he was really okay. It took a lot of effort to even walk, but he picked up speed. Desperate need propelled him.

His forward movement stopped abruptly when his feet flew out from under him and gravel raced up to meet his chin. Gasping in surprise and pain, he clawed at the loose rocks as he slid backwards, away from Dean and his goal. Something was pulling him.

Sharp claws and heavy tendrils gripped his legs and sides, dragging him. He fought back but could find no purchase. As he felt a cold black mist envelope him, he cried out.

"_DEAN!_"

For the second time in one night, he was losing his brother, the only person left on Earth that he dared to love. The first time, something had taken Dean from him. Now, something was taking him from Dean.

As the darkness smothered him, he heard a chilling word reverberate through his mind.

_Finally_….

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Dean woke with a gasp, like he hadn't breathed in--- _However long_...

He wasn't sure where he was, at first, since all he could see was black. The twinkle of stars in that darkness made him think at first that he was maybe floating somewhere. Space? He and Sammy had pretended to be astronauts when they were little.

Of course, there'd been no stars then, just a blanket over a cardboard box and Sammy's laughter. And, now, while there _were _stars...there was no Sammy laughing.

Dean hadn't heard Sam laugh for real in...what? Weeks, now?

Sam...

The last thing Dean clearly remembered was standing on a gravel road, waiting for the crossroads demon to show up. Had she appeared?

_Well, this is touching_...

She had, it was coming back to him. But...if she had come for him...and he wasn't dead...

On the other hand, he might be in hell. Dean frowned. He wasn't going to figure it out lying on his back. Rolling onto his side, he gathered his strength and pushed himself up.

He appeared to be alone. No demon. No Sam. Nobody.

Getting to his feet was a clumsy exercise. His limbs didn't want to cooperate at first. But, he eventually managed to work his way up, and stepped over to rest against the hood of the Impala.

At least his baby was still there.

He idly rubbed at his chest. It felt like a nasty bruise was forming there. It was almost like he'd been punched, but he didn't remember that happening.

Once he thought he could walk around, he moved away from the car and looked around. It was the same road. He was certain of that. Same gravel, same trees in the distance, same funky smell from the ditch on the left.

About twenty feet from the car, he saw them. Claw marks in the gravel of the road. Something had been dragged...away from the car from the look of it. Something with big hands.

A part of Dean's mind screamed _SAM_.

Had his brother found a last-minute way to break the deal? Had he traded himself away the way Dean had feared he might? Were these tracks in the gravel evidence of his little brother being dragged away by the demon's hell hounds?

Too many questions swirled around in his already disoriented brain. Dizziness mixed with nausea and he found himself gagging. He dropped to his knees and hung his head. The pungent odor of sulfur assaulted his nose, making the bile rise further up his throat. He covered his nose with one hand to try and block the smell, but he couldn't stop staring at the tracks.

He was still sitting like that when headlights illuminated the area. He glanced back, but, blinded by the glare, he turned went back to staring at the claw marks on the ground.

With the new light, Dean could see blood on some of the rocks.

With increasing certainty, he believed that the marks were made by his little brother.

The sounds of a car engine running, a door opening, and gravel crunching under foot was punctuated by an astonished whisper.

"Dean?"

At the name, he looked behind him, finding Bobby staring back, open-mouthed. It took Dean's muddled brain a few seconds to remember that the older man had been there for backup. To pick up Sam and the pieces after the deal went through.

Looked like Bobby's job had changed.

_Best laid plans_… Dean thought grimly.

"What happened?" Bobby prompted.

Dean just shook his head. What _had_ happened? He didn't have an answer, so he posed a question of his own.

"Do you know where Sammy is?"

Bobby looked around for a moment, flabbergasted. "No. A few minutes ago, the gravel on the road was shaking. I thought it was a damned earthquake."

"In the Midwest?" Dean asked. If he'd had more sense about him, his tone would have been incredulous. But, it merely sounded flat to him.

Bobby didn't notice his lethargy. "That's what I thought, so I came on in early."

The older man hesitated, crouching down so he could see Dean at eye level. Dean figured it was a stalling tactic. "So…don't take this the wrong way…but why are you still alive?"

"I don't know. I think I died…you know, _again_," Dean laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "But then I woke up---over there, by the car---and I saw these."

Bobby followed Dean's gaze to the marks in the road. Apparently, the older hunter came to the same conclusion as Dean had. "Sam?"

"I guess he did something stupid…." Dean whispered, the misery of the last few moments flaring up. "Maybe--- Maybe he got her to cancel the deal…somehow."

But Bobby was shaking his head. "No…I don't think so…."

"What makes you say that? I'm here. Sammy's not."

The other man huffed. "Dean, I know you're out of it right now, but think about this. One, he knew how you felt about your Daddy's deal. He wouldn't trade places with you because he knew you wouldn't want him to."

"He was so desperate, Bobby... He wasn't thinking clearly…."

Bobby continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Second, look at those marks. That demon took you over by the car. There aren't any marks. She just took you where you stood. But, these marks…if Sam made 'em, he didn't go willingly."

That caught Dean's attention. He stared hard at the tracks, then back at Bobby. "You think she took him? She reneged on the deal and took Sam instead…."

"Maybe. Or maybe something else did. I know I've never seen so much sulfur at a crossroads event before. Definitely not that bitch's M.O."

_Something else_…. Something took Sam. The words echoed in Dean's ears, building in intensity until he wanted to scream. He pushed himself to his feet, almost toppling if not for Bobby's steadying grip. "We have to find him…."

"I'm all for it," Bobby said. "But where do you want to start? Sam could be anywhere."

Dean considered that for a moment. When the yellow-eyed demon had taken Sam to Cold Oak a year earlier…. It was the same situation; they had no clues on where to start. And this time there was no Andy to send Dean a vision.

He shrugged it off. "It doesn't matter, Bobby. We just need to start looking."

The older man frowned, but then simply nodded. "Okay. We can make a few calls. Get the word out, at least."

The feeling of failure nauseated him. He'd sold his soul in exchange for Sam's life…now, it seemed, it had all been for nothing. The moment he was out of the picture, something had grabbed Sam and done God-knows-what with him. Dean had failed Sam simply by not being there in that final moment, when it counted.

Now, Dean was alone…again, like he'd been a year earlier when he'd held his brother's lifeless body in his arms on that muddy road.

He really began to wonder if he wasn't in Hell after all.

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Sam drifted towards consciousness. Even before he was fully awake, his nerve endings sent complaints to his brain. Everything hurt. He ached like he'd been thrown down a flight of stairs. Which, he supposed, wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The room wasn't bright---it was, in fact, quite gloomy---but even that small amount of illumination gave him a massive headache. He shut his eyes and tried to use his other senses.

The room, wherever it may be, was quiet. The sound of air blowing out of a vent was the only noise, so Sam assumed he was alone.

He was lying on his back, on a soft mattress. The fabric of the sheets was comfortable, and he tiredly tried to sink further into it to soothe his aching body.

Moving his arms brought his attention to his hands. The sting from both was frightful, but his right hand was throbbing, keeping time with his pulse. It twitched of its own accord, and the surge of pain was enough to force him upright, grasping the shaking appendage. He forced his eyes back open and looked down at it. His palm was covered in blood, and the hand felt broken, similar to when he'd broken it fighting that zombie girl with Dean---

_Dean!_

Panic drove him off the bed, cradling his wounded right hand in his stinging left. He needed to find Dean. The last time he'd seen his brother, he was alive and breathing on that gravel road. He had to get back there...from wherever this was.

He looked around, examining the room with his eyes this time. It looked like a basement that had been converted into a bedroom. There was the bed he'd woken up on, a nightstand, a dresser, and a small bathroom in the corner. No windows. The air was cooled by the vent he'd heard earlier. The only light came from a small, dim lamp on the nightstand.

Keeping his injured hand close to his stomach, Sam felt the walls, searching for any kind of door out of the room. He found one along the far wall, but it had no handle.

_Must open from the outside_... he thought. _Where the hell am I? _

"Are you all right, Sam?"

Sam spun around at the sudden voice---too fast as it turned out, since a wave of dizziness almost sent him to the floor---to see someone sitting in a chair in one dark corner. He could have sworn that corner had been empty earlier. Now, a figure sat, looking at him. It appeared to be a female.

"Azoreth gets a little overzealous...I hope he didn't hurt you too badly."

Sam blinked at her, trying to decide whether the person was real. "W-who are you?"

She stepped out into the room, and Sam could make out her features in the low light. The woman---if that's what she was---was gorgeous. Long, dark hair, high cheekbones, bright green eyes. _Almost unnaturally green, actually_... Her voice was silky when she spoke.

"I have a lot of names, Sam, but you can call me Jezebeth."

"Jezebeth?" He looked at her as she came closer. She was even more beautiful close up. He shook off the mesmerizing effect of her appearance, and tried to focus. Something was really wrong here.

"What do you want?"

She smiled warmly. "I'm here to help you, Sam. I've been waiting for you."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2: On Pain and Pessimism

_I want to thank everyone for their response to Chapter 1. I'm glad this story has hooked some people! _

_Special thanks to Faye Dartmouth for serving as beta on this. She's a tough editor! Also, thanks go out to shimmerinstars77, GG101, nerdlygeek, and Phx over at SFTCOL(AR)S for giving me some useful insight for the second half of this chapter. _

_I own nothing. Reviews craved. _

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**Chapter 2: On Pain and Pessimism**

Sam instinctively took a step back as she approached. Something about this woman was freaking him out, and, with a broken hand, he wasn't in any shape to defend himself. His head was spinning, his hands throbbing, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. He backed into the door and could retreat no farther.

"Stay back..." he commanded. Even to his own ears it sounded weak and unthreatening.

Jezebeth---whoever she was---held out her hands as if to placate him. "Don't be afraid, Sam."

Sam slid past the door and pushed off the wall with his good hand. "I said stay away from me."

"I'm only here to help. Please, don't be afraid of me."

Her voice was like honey, flowing over his frayed nerves and soothing his anxiety just by its sound. He felt his body relax involuntarily. Sam tried hard to shake off the effects. An alarmed part of his mind warned that the honey-sweet voice caressing his ears could also smother him if he wasn't careful. He reminded himself that he had no idea who this woman was…if she was a woman at all. He backed away until his calves touched the bed.

"You're hurt. Your hand is broken," she said quietly, examining him with those unusually green eyes.

Sam glanced down at his hand reflexively, though he already knew that it was broken. "How can you tell that?"

Rather than answer, she took one long stride and placed herself right in front of him. She reached out and grasped his broken hand in both of hers and squeezed. He was on his knees, crying out in pain before he knew what had hit him.

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The sound of moaning captured Dean and Bobby's attention. It didn't take long to find the source.

A young redheaded woman, wearing a blue dress, was sprawled out in the ditch along the right side of the road. Dean froze in his tracks when he realized that this was the crossroads demon.

Bobby, as if he hadn't noticed Dean's hesitation at all, moved forward and pulled her upright. Her eyes fluttered open, and Dean noticed that they didn't have the reddish sheen that they'd possessed earlier. Her voice wasn't nearly as arrogant either.

"W-where am I? What's going on…?"

Dean spoke before Bobby could, trying to control the panic growing in the pit of his stomach. He needed to know. "You don't remember?"

She shook her head. "The last thing--- I was in a restaurant…I got up to use the lady's room…."

Bobby glanced at Dean before speaking. "Looks like you were kidnapped, ma'am. Any idea who did it?"

Another shake of her head. She had no idea that she'd been possessed. Dean barely listened to her and Bobby's exchange. He thoughts moved back to Sam.

Where had Sam gone? What had taken him? Why? Why had the deal been broken, and did that mean that Sam's life had been forfeited as warned?

He felt trapped in quicksand. Nothing was making sense to him. He was supposed to be dead, and Sam was supposed to grieve for a while and then get on with his life. The deal wasn't going to be broken, they'd known that when they came out here. Dean had prepared his brother as best he could and said his goodbyes.

Sam wasn't supposed to _disappear_ on him…be taken _by force_ at that….

He let himself wander away from the woman, his thoughts moving too fast for him to keep up with the conversation. Let Bobby play the hero. Dean's eyes drifted until they came to rest on the tracks in the gravel…and the blood.

Every fiber of his existence told him that the blood was Sam's.

Every fiber of his existence told him that Sam was in danger.

And every fiber of his existence knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

If this wasn't Hell, he didn't know what else it could be.

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Sam could barely breathe with the blinding pain in his hand. It had been bad before Jezebeth had grabbed it. Now it was crippling. He was struggling just to stay conscious.

Then, as suddenly as the agony began, it faded away. The abrupt feeling of relief that spread down his arm was like a flood. It was bliss. He looked up at the woman with amazement.

Jezebeth smiled down at him. She kissed his hand and released it. "Better?"

Sam examined the freshly healed hand in amazement. "H-how..?"

With a broad smile, she reached down and lifted him onto the edge of the bed, then sat down next to him. "Let me take care of you, Sam. That's why I'm here."

For a moment, he felt himself falling toward that smile, losing himself. The image of a fish being reeled in sprang to his mind---the one and only time Pastor Jim had taken him fishing, a seven-year-old Sam had balked at the cruelty of sticking a hook in an unsuspecting fish's mouth---and an alarm went off in the back of his mind.

He was a _prisoner _here, not any kind of patient.

It took all of his strength to push her away and scramble off of the bed. "N-no... No! Let me out of here. I want to leave."

"Why?" she asked placidly. His outburst had little effect on her attitude.

The question momentarily stumped him. Why _wouldn't _he want to leave? He was being held captive here, apparently. "I have to get to my brother. If you want to help me, then help me get out of this room."

Jezebeth shook her head. "You don't need to worry about Dean anymore. You have more important matters to attend to."

"What 'matters?'"

The smile didn't falter at all. "You have a war to win for us. We've been waiting a long time for you to be ready."

_War? _It struck him like a thunderbolt. The demon army. Jake had been their leader. The demon Bobby had exorcised a few months back told them that the army had been lying low until they found someone to take Jake's place. Sam's heart sank as he realized just how much trouble he was in.

He was the replacement.

"You're a demon..."

"Yes. It's my duty to help you in your new role."

"My new role...? You mean you want me to lead your army," Sam said, accusingly.

She didn't seem offended in the slightest. "The one you referred to as the 'yellow-eyed demon' selected you for _his _army. He was hoping you would be his champion. After a fashion, he was correct. You are the last survivor of this generation of psychics."

"Is that why you brought me here, so I'd take over?"

"The decision was made after you defeated Jake at the gateway. But, we lost track of you after that. When you used your power tonight, it led us to you."

_Used his power_... He reached up and rubbed his nose. He felt dried blood on his face beneath it. He remembered waking up on the road, his nose bleeding. The crossroads demon was no where to be seen, and Dean was breathing again.

_What have I done?_

Apparently, he spoke his thoughts out loud, since Jezebeth answered him, with pride coloring her voice. "You've accepted your destiny, Sam. You've seized what's rightfully yours."

He shook his head. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let Dean's sacrifice lead to their worst nightmare. "I won't help you. I don't care what you do. I'm not helping you."

"You're afraid of me," she said. It wasn't a question. "You shouldn't be. I'd never hurt you."

"Sure..." he scoffed, stepping closer to the door, even though he didn't know how to get it open.

Jezebeth looked perplexed. "What do you think is going to happen here, Sam? I'm not here to coerce. If I was here to torture you or threaten you, would I have healed your hand?"

Sam couldn't help but look at his hand again. She noticed. "You've endured enough pain for one lifetime, Sam. Let me take it away. You deserve so much better."

He blinked at her. Until then, he hadn't noticed that she had come closer and was standing right next to him now. What was she doing? It was like he was in a fog.

Her hands gripped his arms with such force that it felt like they were made of steel. He tried to move his arms, but it was no use. Jezebeth had him pinned. She pushed him firmly, but gently, against the locked door. He tried, unsuccessfully, to quell the panic that he suddenly felt.

He was boxed in.

She moved one hand to his chest and ran the other one through his hair in a surprisingly gentle caress. He gasped at the contact, overwhelmed by a surge of pain and grief.

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"You look like crap, Dean."

Dean stopped pacing and glared at Ellen. "Gee, thanks."

Ellen opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she planned to say was forgotten when Bobby re-entered the room.

"Any word?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Nothing," Bobby sighed. "I've talked to every contact that I trust and a few that I don't. No one's seen or heard from Sam. Not even a lead."

"Damn it!" Dean shouted, punching the kitchen table. "We have to---"

"You need to sit down before you fall down," Bobby commanded, matching Dean's irritation. "You've been going since I found you last night. You're gonna collapse if you don't slow down. Sit and eat something."

Dean spun towards him, ready to tell Bobby what he could do with his advice, when Ellen spoke up. "He's right, honey. You aren't gonna do Sam any good if you let yourself fall over."

That gave him pause. On the one hand, she was right, but on the other... They hadn't seen Sam the past few weeks, hadn't seen what the knowledge of Dean's impending fate had done to him. "Ellen...Bobby...Sam was so upset. He was barely hanging on when I---when we went out to that road. If something took him--- I mean...he doesn't even know that I'm still---"

He faltered, but Bobby's reply hid his distress. "We don't know _what _happened out on that road, Dean. All we know is that Sam and the demon were gone and you were alive when I got there."

"There has to be a reason," Dean said. "There has to be some connection we're not seeing."

"I'm sure," Ellen offered. "And if this wasn't enough, I've been talking to Jo and some of the hunters she knows. All the demonic activity that they've been tracking has stopped."

Something in her words cut through the misery and malaise that clouded Dean's mind. "What do you mean, 'stopped'?"

Ellen glanced at Bobby before answering. "Ever since that demon army escaped last year, we've been trying to keep tabs. There's been more than the normal number of possession and demonic signs, and even though we don't know where the _big_ crowd is, we've been seeing some of the lesser ones moving in some areas."

"Doing what?" Dean asked. He suddenly regretted having pulled so far out of hunting the past six months. He was totally out of the loop.

"We don't know," Bobby answered.

Ellen spoke again. "But, as of today, virtually all of the demons we'd been tracking have disappeared. I mean…gone. Poof."

Dean frowned. "'Recently?' As in…since _last night_?"

"Yeah," Bobby said. "When I talked to Jefferson this morning he said the same thing. It's like someone flipped a switch and all but a few of them have gone to ground. I think something _big_ is happening."

Dean's blood ran cold. "You think Sam did something, don't you? You think these demons all vanished when Sam was taken…."

Bobby frowned this time. "Hold on! I don't think Sam did anything, besides find some way to save you at the last minute. These demonic signs might have nothing to do with his disappearance. We don't _know_ what it all means."

"We need to work on the assumption that Sam's alive and well," Ellen added calmly. "Panic isn't going to help him."

Outflanked, and with exhaustion nagging at him, Dean sank into one of the chairs. "What can we do?"

"_You_, get some sleep," Ellen said in a commanding tone. "Bobby and I will make some more calls. Sam's bound to turn up somewhere...we just need to get some eyes out there."

Dean nodded, feeling numb from the neck down. Regardless of their reassurance, there was no doubt in his mind that Sam's situation and the demons were intertwined. The idea made him nauseous. But, there was nothing he could do. He stood and shuffled resignedly towards the stairs and Bobby's guest room, though he had no intention of sleeping. Bobby called him before he reached the steps. "We'll find him, Dean."

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_"Sam...I don't want to hurt anyone else. I don't want to hurt you…."_

_He stared at the gun as if it might bite him. He looked from it to Madison's watery, but determined eyes and back. He couldn't do this..._

"_We can find a way, all right? I can. I'm going to save you."_

"_You tried. I know you tried. This is all there is left…. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it…."_

"_I don't want to die. I don't. But, I can't live like this…."_

"No, please. I can't... Please, not again..." Sam stammered. He squeezed his eyes shut, even though that did nothing to stop the memories from running like a movie through his mind.

_"Sammy...I got this one, I'll do it..."_

_"She asked __me to_."

_"You don't have to."_

_"Yes, I do..."_

"Please...oh, God, please. Make this stop. I can't go through this again..." That night in San Francisco had practically torn Sam in two. He'd done his best to bury the memories and never revisit them. Even Dean had steered clear of anything that might bring Maddy up in conversation.

_He reached for the gun_. "_Please..."_

_"Just wait here_."

_Steeling himself, Sam gave Dean one last look---begging him to let him do this...begging for him to find another way---and, knowing there was no other option, he turned and walked into the room where Maddy was waiting. As his eyes slid away from his brother's, Sam understood with agonizing clarity the pain Dean must have felt when Sam had begged him to kill him if he turned evil._

The gunshot that ended Madison's life was still ringing in his head when he heard Jezebeth whisper into his ear.

"You've carried this pain for far too long, Sam. Let it go. Let me take it from you..."

Too overcome by the memories---which even more than a year later were too raw to deal with---Sam didn't even think about declining her offer. In that moment, he'd do anything to be free of it. He nodded.

She moved, one hand still running affectionately through his hair, the other pressing against his rapidly-beating heart. He could feel something building, but he didn't understand it. He opened his eyes in time to see her move in and kiss him on the lips.

With a rush, the pain was pulled out of him. All the grief that night had burned into his heart, the crushing weight of his guilt, the raw agony that her memory filled him with...disappeared. In its place, he could only feel the pleasure of Jezebeth's lips against his, the warmth of her hands and body pressing against him.

He still remembered what happened. He could visualize every moment of it, but the heartbreak was gone. For the first time, he could look back on those events objectively. With stunning clarity, he saw what Dean had always told him. They couldn't have saved her. He wasn't to blame. If nothing else, he _had _saved her. His strength had kept her from a life of misery and fear.

The difference was like night and day. And all he could feel was gratitude for the woman before him who had made it possible.

"Thank you... H-how...?" he muttered, actually regretting it when she moved away. He wasn't sure why...he'd only just met this woman. And she was working for the demons. A small part of his mind warned him that she was _dangerous_.

But...if that was so, why would she have helped him like this? Why would she have shown him such compassion? Was she just using him? Trying to win his confidence? The cynical side of him, the one most like Dean, thought that was the most logical answer.

"We all have our gifts, Sam. Mine is the ability to take away pain. To free you from the chains that have held you back for so long," Jezebeth answered. Her hand still fondled his hair.

He blinked, trying to think. Her proximity made that more than a little difficult. He stumbled back half a step, only to find himself pressed against the locked door. He also found, to his surprise, that he really didn't _want_ to be away from her. His thoughts tumbled as he tried to concentrate.

"No…. No. You're just using me. You're looking for a replacement for Jake."

Jezebeth shook her head slowly. "No, Sam. My interest lies only in you, not the war, and not the army. I was brought here for you."

"I don't understand…."

"The demon that you and your brother defeated brought me to Earth. My function was to prepare his champion for the coming conflict."

"Train his---" Sam squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that her beauty wouldn't be quite so distracting that way. It didn't help much. His mind's eye took over for his closed eyes. "Jake was his champion."

"Yes, for a while. Before you defeated him."

_Before I murdered him_…. Sam thought sadly. "I can't take his place…I won't…."

She didn't seem phased by his statement. "That's your choice, Sam. I can't advise you on that…."

He opened his eyes and stared at her incredulously. "But…you--- You're trying to---"

"I'm only trying to help you. I told you, I won't coerce you. I won't force you to do anything. I only care about your pain."

"Why? If you aren't trying to convince me, then why does it matter to you?" he asked.

She considered him for a moment, then cocked her head to the side. The way the light glinted off of the curves of his neck entranced him for a moment, until he could finally drag his eyes back to hers. "Sam, do you understand how reapers work?"

_Reapers?_ He frowned, confused. She continued when he didn't answer. "They have but one function in their existence. They move souls---or life forces if you prefer---from this plane to the next. That is their only concern. They don't seek revenge, they don't choose sides. They merely preserve the delicate balance between life and death."

"That's why there's a trade…" he offered, following her line of thought, but only barely. He couldn't get over how her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the room.

"Yes. Even crossroad demons are bound to certain rules. It's the way the universe operates. You upset that balance when you killed the demon the other night. That's how you were located so quickly by Azoreth."

Her words hit him, momentarily breaking him out of his stupor. "Killed? I killed….?"

"Don't worry, you restored the balance. You returned your brother's life, and took the demon's in his place. It was masterful. Your power is impressive."

Sam blinked. He killed the crossroads demon? He didn't remember doing that. But, he remembered Dean. He remembered Dean lying there, breathing when he was supposed to be dead. _My God…it's true_….

Jezebeth kept on, seemingly oblivious to his realization. "And it is the same with me. My concern lies only in healing the pain of those who I am summoned for. The one you called the 'yellow-eyed demon' summoned me for you. He knew your power was limited only by the pain with which you were afflicted. He knew that I could help you."

Sam reeled. It was so much to absorb, and his mind was racing in a thousand directions at once. Somehow, Jezebeth was in all of those directions. He could only listen as her calming words flowed over him like warm breeze. It countered the chill in the air around them.

"Pain robs us of clarity, Sam. It makes us waste our lives on regret when we should be moving forward," she said quietly. He found himself leaning closer to hear, as much due to her quiet tone as to the rhythmic stroking of his hair. "You carry so much pain in your heart, Sam..."

She pressed her hand to his chest again.

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Dean stared forlornly into his cup of coffee. It had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd woken on that gravel road. They'd found no sign of Sam or anything that might have taken him. The crossroads demon was no where to be seen either. Apparently, whatever had happened, Dean was off the hook.

_And, somehow, Sam ended up on it in my place_. Dean was sure of it.

Sleep had helped a little, despite his attempts to avoid it. He no longer felt like he was going to pass out. But, it hadn't helped his mood any. His brother, either through his own actions or something else's, was still missing. No one had heard a word.

Bobby and Ellen had contacted everyone two or three times. Wherever Sam was, he was out of sight…incommunicado.

Maybe dead.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut at that. After the past year, watching Sam destroy himself trying to break the deal, enjoying a few blissful months traveling---exploring a life free of demons and deals, if only for a short time---only to have the deal rear its ugly head again….

It was just too much.

Dean had been close to the end. The capitol E "End." Sam had been devastated, but he'd been _alive_. He'd have gotten over it eventually, and with luck would have enjoyed a normal life. The one he'd always wanted.

At least, that had been Dean's plan.

Whatever had transpired after his---temporary---death on that road had shot the plan to hell. Now, Dean was hunting again. Hunting for his brother. Searching for Sam.

Maybe they were doomed to hunt forever.

Well, if that was the case, he planned on doing it with Sam. He'd have to _find_ Sam first, but they'd see it through together. Dean would need to get the weapons out of storage.

Whatever had taken him was demonic in origin. The sulfur on the road was proof enough of that. The tracks proved that Sam had tried to resist, which was proof that Sam hadn't done something stupid like offering himself in Dean's place. Those were the facts. If Sam was still alive, they'd just need to---

Dean's thought's ground to a halt at that. "If Sam was still alive" was just optimistic speak for "if Sam wasn't dead." Dean had never been that keen on optimism. It made you complacent. Pessimism worked better, made you sharp. Made you cautious.

Sam had always been optimistic. He'd been the one to imagine a life beyond hunting. He'd been the one who prayed to a God that Dean couldn't believe in. He'd been the one so certain that he could find a way to break the crossroad demon's deal.

And what had that optimism gotten him? Shattered dreams. A lifetime's worth of misplaced guilt. A twice broken heart. Ultimately, none of it would matter if Sam was dead.

_If Sam's dead_…. Well, that was the real question, wasn't it?

Dean polished off what was left of his coffee, grimacing when he realized that it was cold.

If his brother was dead, then Dean would just have to find out _where_ he was.

And join him.

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"_Families with infants?"_

_John just stared at him grimly. "Yeah, on the night of the kid's six month birthday."_

At some point, they'd moved onto the bed. Sam was physically and mentally exhausted. Jezebeth had explored some of his worst memories---Dad's death; Dad throwing him out when he'd decided to go to college; the awful hours spent watching his brother die after the crash---removing pain that in some cases he didn't even know he'd been carrying. He sagged against the headboard---Jezebeth supporting nearly all of his weight and holding him upright---and let his eyes droop.

"_So, basically, the demon is going after these kids for some reason…same way it did for me…."_

_At his Dad's confirmation, Sam followed the thought through to completion. "So…Mom's death…Jessica's…it's all because of _me_?"_

"_We don't know that, Sam," Dean jumped in angrily. Sam returned the anger, mostly because he figured Dean knew as well as he did and was just in denial. _

"_Oh, really? 'Cause I'd say that we're pretty damned sure, Dean!"_

"_For the last time," Dean shouted, "what happened to them is not _your_ fault!"_

Dean's words should have provided solace. He trusted his brother's judgment, after all. Most of the time. But, this time all he could see was the stony look on his father's face.

Dad wasn't saying it wasn't Sam's fault.

Dad was saying nothing.

But his eyes were. His Dad's eyes were telling him everything. The demon had come for Sam and his Mom---their Mom, his and Dean's---had gotten in the way. That morning in Colorado it had only been a sinking feeling…the notion that Dad knew more than he was letting on. That Dad knew he was responsible and was only sparing his youngest's feelings.

Later, when Dean told him the secret Dad had left with him, it was ominous, vague. The secret and warning had twisted Sam's insides with worry and fear. It was more than the simple idea that his psychic abilities might be used for evil. It was more than the idea that his Dad had told Dean that he might have to kill Sam---though, that in itself was pretty bad.

What hurt and scared him the most was that his own family had kept it from him. Dean, especially. For all of his brother's protestations of needing more time, it was painfully obvious to Sam that the real reason Dean had kept silent was that he believed it.

He believed that his little brother could be turned into something evil. He'd told Andy as much when he'd been under the other psychic's mind control. On some basic level, Dean thought Sam was doomed.

But, it wasn't until Sam had been taken to Cold Oak, to fight in the yellow-eyed demon's sick psychic kid death match that he'd gotten confirmation about the deaths of his Mom and Jess.

The demon had shown him the events in his nursery, and explained quite clearly about the reasons behind Jess' death. They'd both gotten in the way. Hell, the demon hadn't even wanted to kill Mary, she'd surprised him and tried to protect her six-month-old helpless son. His helplessness had orphaned both him and his brother. It didn't matter that _any_ six-month-old would have been helpless in that situation. Sam saw it the only way he could.

His fault.

His curse.

He felt the fires consuming his loved ones just as clearly as he felt the hot tears streaming down his face.

"Shh," Jezebeth whispered. "Let it go, Sam."

He was too tired to argue. Too weak to explain his culpability to this demon before him. How could she understand? Sam knew little of demonic relationships, but he was sure that Jezebeth, if she had a family, hadn't shattered it by her mere existence. Not the way he had.

He'd give anything to be freed of that crushing weight in his chest. Anything at all.

Her lips brushed his again, and with a strangled sob, he let her fold him into her arms and take his pain away.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3: Stratagems

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. Also, special thanks to my beta Faye Dartmouth!_

_I own nothing. Reviews craved. _

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**Chapter 3: Stratagems**

"Can you feel that?"

Sam shook his head, concentrating on the chair beside the bed. He'd been at it for hours, but couldn't do what Jezebeth was asking of him. He sighed, blowing out a frustrated breath. "No."

She didn't say anything, just stroked his hair, soothing his nerves with a mere touch. He still hadn't figured out how she was doing that. But, as his body relaxed, he felt something. A subtle shift in his head. He'd almost missed it.

"Try again. Let it happen."

Sam glanced at her, then focused on the wooden chair once more. He didn't think he'd ever get this, but he listened to her voice and let his muscles relax. After a long moment, the chair slid abruptly to the center of the room, wood scratching on wood.

Jezebeth had moved behind him, both hands moving to his temples and rubbing in small circles. "Easy. Don't force yourself; just let it come naturally…."

This time the chair moved upward, floating smoothly in mid-air. Another moment and it slowly rotated in place. Sam's elation at the success was short-lived though. His thoughts turned to Max Miller and the last time he'd used his telekinesis. When he'd moved the china cabinet and escaped that closet…when he'd had the vision of Dean being shot and killed.

Fresh fear gripped him for a moment. He tried to quell it, reminding himself that Dean had survived. That he'd made it upstairs in time. But the image of Dean's brains splattering against that off-white wall was still vivid, even after so long, as was the pain of watching his brother die and the fear of someday _not_ being able to stop it.

"You didn't share this with me before…" Jezebeth whispered in his ear.

Sam took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, but the terrible emotions stayed close to the surface, refusing to be ignored. "It's--- It's nothing. It didn't happen. It didn't happen…."

"But you still fear the image, fear losing him," she said, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"Yes..." Sam nodded slowly, reluctantly, eyes watering at the very thought. Losing Dean was unthinkable….

He found, however, that he didn't want to release this thought, this pain. He always felt that pang of guilt when she asked him to release memories of Dean. Even the painful ones. He felt _wrong_ doing it. Like he was betraying his sibling's confidence. Like he was just plain betraying _Dean_.

He gasped, taken by surprise when her hand touched his chest and he felt her connection building again. "Release this, Sam. Free yourself…."

He wanted to refuse, but found his resistance dimming again. Maybe she was right, after all…. Maybe it wasn't about betraying Dean….

He barely heard the chair crash to the floor as he sank into her embrace.

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_Five days after Sam's disappearance…._

The only thing keeping Dean from tearing the demon's throat out was the fact that he would be killing the human it was possessing. Or maybe it was simply because this creature might have information he needed. That was a terrifying thought…or would have been, if Dean could have thought of anything besides his missing brother.

Given how thin his patience was wearing, he wasn't sure how much longer he could resist the urge to kill the man in either case. But, for the moment, he satisfied himself by pouring a slow stream of holy water down the guy's shirt and listening to the unearthly howls of pain.

"Tell me where my brother is, you son of a bitch!"

He didn't give it time to answer, just pour another cup of the blessed water over its head.

One of Bobby's contacts had alerted them that one of the few demons still on the loose after everything went quiet was in Sioux Falls. Dean had immediately come here, hoping it would be the one who'd taken Sam. He'd dared to hope that it was _possessing _Sam, so that at least he'd know his brother was okay.

It hadn't been. It had just hijacked some lawyer's body.

Dean wasn't sure whether his disappointment was healthy or not. How can you feel so upset that a demon _hasn't _possessed your little brother? He wondered if he was going nuts... _Screw that, I _am_ going nuts_, he thought, _and it won't get any better until I find Sam. _

"What's wrong, meatbag? You miss your boyfriend?" it snickered. The lawyer's mouth twisted into a disgustingly lewd grin.

Dean splashed the holy water into its eyes and picked up the copy of the exorcism rite he'd found at Bobby's. _Time to up the ante_….

The rite was old. It would cast the demon out nice and slow. Dean picked it because it was good for interrogation. And he felt like hurting this demonic bastard. It was petty, and he was sure Sam would be giving him those disapproving looks he was so good at...

But, Sam wasn't here. Sam hadn't been here in almost a week now.

When Dean found him, he'd listen to any lecture Sam wanted to give him.

The creature howled, partly in pain, partly in fury, as Dean circled him, reading. He was careful to avoid the outer ring of the devil's trap that he'd spray painted onto the lawyer's hardwood living room floor. The demon yelled and struggled, snarling like a tormented animal. Occasionally, the chair it was tied to slid back and forth along the lines of the pentagram.

"W-wait! Stop!" the demon screamed as the ritual reached a crescendo.

Dean looked up from the paper, eyes narrowed. "You got something to say?"

"I--- I know who took him. But, I don't know where he is..."

"I'm listening," Dean grit out.

"One of the emissaries…he was looking for your brother. He finally found him at the crossroads…."

The words made Dean lower the paper and stop the exorcism. "Emis--- Why was he looking for Sam?"

The demon eyed the paper in Dean's hand warily, then grudgingly raised his eyes back to Dean's. "We were supposed to have a commander."

Dean blinked, his mind working for a moment, before it clicked. "Your army…."

"When the one you killed gathered us together, he told us we would need a human leader, someone uninvolved in the feuds and competition that had developed within our ranks. But, your brother killed the chosen one before we were released."

"Jake," Dean breathed. "Sam killed Jake. But…now, what? You think Sam will take his place? And…why now?"

The revelation made Dean queasy. He'd dared to hope that, with the yellow-eyed demon's death, Sam was off the hook with this destiny business.

The demon's black eyes stayed focused on the exorcism in Dean's hand, and it sagged a little in the chair it was bound to. "We've been searching for him for months. We almost found you two about six months ago, but then you stopped hunting, and we lost track of you, again. Your brother is powerful. We all felt what he did the other night. It led the emissary right to him."

Dean reeled from all the information. _Six months ago_…. That was when Dean had convinced his brother to "retire" and go on their big road trip. _Now that you mention it, we did kinda fall off the radar_….

"What did he do? The other night…what led you to him?"

The demon frowned, as if he expected Dean to already know. "He killed the crossroads demon."

Dean's mouth fell open. "Killed it?"

"Yes…he tore her apart. Right there on the road. The release of power led the emissary to him like a beacon."

Dean felt like his world was bottoming out. Sam killed the demon? Killed it with his psychic abilities? It was unbelievable. It'd been more than a year since the yellow-eyed demon had tried to coax Sam into using his abilities. More than a year and Sam had shown no sign except for a few visions. Was it possible?

Sam had told Dean all about the experience at Cold Oak. How Ava could control demons, how her powers had grown. They'd seen Jake's abilities grow exponentially over just a few days. And now Sam seemed--- No. Sam wasn't Jake. He'd never turn the way Jake had. Dean was certain of it.

He paused, glancing at his prisoner. Demons lied. All the time. He had to be sure of this.

He splashed more holy water in the demon's face, waiting until it stopped thrashing to ask another question. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"That exorcism," it wheezed, looking pointedly at the paper. "It leaves us weak. If you send me back with it, it'll be decades before I get out again," he paused, his voice cracking. "I was there for _so long_…."

Dean smirked at it. "You're scared, is that it? You think telling me all this will keep me from sending you back?"

"If you find my knowledge useful…perhaps a deal can be made…?"

His blood running cold at the mention of a deal, Dean ducked his head. A deal was what had gotten them here in the first place. There'd been too many deals the past couple of years. But, he forced himself to consider the demon's words. He needed to keep it talking.

"All right," he said. "I'll think about it. But, first, you tell me about my brother. Where was he taken?"

"I don't know," it replied. Dean snarled and raised the bottle of water over his head again. "Wait! I swear to you. I don't know. I'm only a scout. I haven't seen the leaders in quite some time. I don't even know where they are now."

Dean lowered the bottle. "A scout?"

"My job, as you humans say, was 'recon.' Searching for hunters and locating the easiest targets. I haven't had direct contact with our group leader for almost a year, now."

"Let's say--- Let's say I believe you," Dean started slowly. "What makes you think Sam would ever lead this army of yours?"

The demon smirked this time. "You meatbags have your weaknesses. You're controlled by whims of the flesh. Frankly, I find it sickening," when Dean only frowned, it added, "Did you ever ask yourself why Jake switched sides so quickly? He killed Sam to win the game…but he couldn't turn over his new leaf without help."

Sam had told him that the demon had visited Jake in Cold Oak, as it had Sam. Jake had decided that he was the better choice for killing it, and in some pretty damned deranged reasoning---in Dean's opinion---had figured that the best way to defeat the demon was to do exactly what it wanted. As far as Dean was concerned, that made Jake an idiot, and just maybe he got what he deserved in that old cowboy cemetery.

Dean offered the trapped demon a smug grin. "Jake didn't understand what he was up against. Sam does. He won't help you."

"Really?" the demon asked, his tone making Dean feel cold. "_I_ heard he's making excellent progress _already_."

Fury rose through Dean again, and he splashed the demon with holy water again. "What are you doing to him?!"

"Nothing!" it howled. "Nothing he can't say no to…but he won't. The temptation is too great."

"What temptation?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Everyone has a weakness…." It replied cryptically. "I've told you everything I know, hunter. Will you spare me?"

Dean's gaze went from the demon, to the paper and back again. He pursed his lips in thought. "You know…one of your kind told me once that Hell was like a prison…."

The demon stared at him, its face blank but its black eyes somehow conveying a quizzical expression. Dean nodded at it.

"Tell the warden 'hi' for me," Dean said. He read the last two lines of the exorcism rite before the demon could react, and watched as the volcanic plume of black smoke erupted from the screaming lawyer's mouth. It blasted against the ceiling and dissipated into nothingness.

Dean checked the lawyer's vitals, finding him unconscious, but alive. He glanced up at the ceiling again before turning on his heel and leaving. "Don't worry, I'll be sending you some more inmates soon."

He placed an anonymous 9-1-1 call from a pay phone down the street, telling the cops where to find the lawyer, and then turned the Impala towards Bobby's.

At least he knew Sam was still alive. Now all he had to do was find him.

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_Jess called out to Sam from where she was pinned to their bedroom ceiling. It was the same dream he'd had on and off since her death, even occasionally after he'd finally let her go. She was looking down at him, asking for help, asking him why. _

_"It doesn't hurt..." Sam muttered, amazed. He'd never thought he could see this without feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest. "I feel sorrow...but, I know it wasn't my fault. I didn't understand that my nightmares were visions."_

_Jezebeth smiled at him, stroking his hair in that soothing way she had. "You've come so far, Sam. You're growing stronger every day."_

_He looked over at her, unable to keep from smiling at her lovely face, but it faltered. "I...I don't want to forget her. I don't want to dishonor her memory like that."_

_"Your compassion is one of your strengths. You won't forget her if you don't want to. No one can force you. No one can force you to do anything, anymore..."_

Sam startled awake, blinking in confusion. He wasn't sure where he was. Glancing around, it slowly came back to him. He was lying on the bed in the basement where he'd been taken. It was dark, but then it hadn't been anything else since he'd arrived. He idly wondered how long he'd been here. There was no way for him to gauge the time.

His eyes stopped wandering when they fell upon his clothes, draped haphazardly over the foot of the bed. It was only then that it dawned on him that he was naked. He froze when a familiar hand ran through his hair.

"Feeling better?"

He looked over, finding Jezebeth curled against him. He felt a rush of sensation as she moved. The memories came back in flashes.

_His brother yelling on that Indiana roadside...telling him how selfish he was...how hard it was to turn his back and walk away..._

_Saying goodbye to his Dad in Chicago...letting him go the way he knew he had to...the nagging feeling that he was making a mistake letting his Dad walk away..._

_Jezebeth's lips brushing his...her hands moving across his chest..._

_Finding his father dead on the hospital floor...knowing before the doctors arrived that it was too late...knowing he would never make his Dad understand...he'd never get to say how sorry he was..._

_Cradled in her arms, sobbing as the memories of Jess' death rolled over him…he couldn't stand the pain anymore. His guilt at not saving her ravaged him, he was responsible. It was his fault... _

_"This pain has poisoned your soul, Sam. Let it go..." _

_He just wanted to stop hurting. _

_He kissed Jezebeth back for the first time. He was so grateful. She was helping him. She was freeing him_...

"You were there just now...inside my head?" he asked, concerned over the apparent violation of his privacy. She nodded. The rhythmic stroking of his hair continued. He never wanted it to stop.

"Yes...you were calling to me. I wouldn't have entered uninvited."

He frowned. "I called you?"

She nodded again. "Don't you remember?"

Sam shook his head, bewildered. How could he have called her? A small part of him asked why it mattered. He called, she obeyed. Wasn't that enough?

Shaking off the odd train of thought, he found himself pulling her closer and wrapping his arms under hers. Her skin was warm against his, and he got as close as he could, soaking up that warmth to ward off the chill in the room.

He was liberated...at peace. For the first time in years, he was completely at ease. He knew he owed it to her.

"I...I can't begin to thank you for what you've done for me..." he whispered. She placed a finger against his lips, shushing him. His brow raised in surprise.

"I've done nothing worthy of praise. I'm yours, Sam."

"Mine?" he murmured, frowning. "I thought you--- I mean, you were there for Jake too---"

"Jealousy is beneath you, Sam," she smiled. "He wasn't half of what you are. He was an arrogant fool."

Sam considered that, then looked back at her. "You're mine?"

"Always," she whispered. She moved against him, lips pressing into his and driving all further questions and thoughts from his mind.

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"Do you believe what it told you?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded. He'd told Bobby and Ellen about the demon he'd exorcised in Sioux Falls, and what it had told him about Sam. From the expressions on their faces, they weren't any happier about it than he was.

"What kind of temptation would they offer him?" Ellen asked, a strange tone in her voice.

"I…I don't know," Dean stumbled. He hadn't expected that question. He had no idea what Sam might want so badly that he would---

_Nothing. He'd never go along with this!_ Dean thought angrily, annoyed with himself for doubting Sam.

Ellen wasn't finished though. "Dean…I have to ask… What if Sam goes through with it? What if he tells them 'yes'?"

Dean and Bobby protested simultaneously.

"He wouldn't!"

"Ellen, how can you even ask---"

"I have to!" she shouted over their objections. "The last time one of these psychic kids went bad we had Sam with us to help bring him down. And I almost ate a bullet in the process. This time we don't have any help. So, I gotta ask, Dean… What are you gonna do if Sam really does go bad?"

Dean was fuming. How dare she say something like that…. He looked over to Bobby, hoping the older man would jump in and keep him from tearing Ellen's head off. But, to his dismay, Bobby only looked ill, and averted his eyes from Dean to the tabletop.

He was shocked. Surely Bobby didn't agree with her… He knew Sam. "Bobby?"

"You saw for yourself in Wyoming, Dean," the older hunter muttered sadly. "You know Sam came back different."

Dean could barely reply to that. "Different, yeah, but… He's…."

He found no support in the others' eyes, only resignation and a hint of sympathy. It was unthinkable. His little brother---the brother _he raised_---wouldn't betray them. There wasn't an evil bone in Sam's body, regardless of what the yellow-eyed demon had said. What he'd resurrected was Sam. _It was_. Dean believed that with every fiber of his being.

But, he wasn't the same man either. He was more like the hunter John had wanted him to be, hard, calculating, merciless in battle.

And it really shouldn't have surprised anybody that Sam hadn't come back exactly the same. The boy Dean had raised had been _murdered_, left to die on a muddy street in an abandoned town. He'd been murdered by Jake, and the deranged psychic had paid the price for that. Sam had been simply, justifiably pissed.

Everything since then…well, Sam had single-handedly tried to break the crossroads deal. He'd been under a lot of stress, and that was bound to change someone. Dean believed he would have acted differently too.

Ellen seemed to take pity on him. "Dean…I just want to be ready. Just in case things go to hell. In case Sam can't say no to whatever they want from him…."

Dean shook his head. Sam wasn't evil and never could be. Ellen was wrong. Bobby should know better. He pushed himself up from the table, unwilling to continue the debate. "It won't come to that. Sam won't help them."

He moved off, heading for the door. Ellen called after him.

"Dean? What if he does?"

_Then we're screwed, because I won't fight him. I won't hunt my own brother_. He turned to look at them, but said nothing. He didn't have to. From their expressions, he knew they saw it in his eyes.

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Sam sat on the edge of the bed, staring blindly at the door leading to the small bathroom. He needed to shower and get cleaned up, but he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to get going. Unwittingly, his thoughts turned to the last time he'd showered in there…the way Jezebeth had….

He pushed the vivid memory away.

He knew that Jezebeth's role here was more than just "grief counselor," and she didn't deny that, much to his surprise. She was here to clear his mind for the task the demons wanted him to perform. They wanted Sam to lead their army, and wage war on Earth, itself.

That should be a chilling thought to him. It should terrify him.

It didn't.

It wasn't that he didn't care. Not that he didn't understand the enormous threat the demon army posed to the world. But, his mind was _clear_. It was free of the fear that once would have paralyzed him. That was Jezebeth's gift to him. He was free to act now in a way he'd never been before.

When Dean had first told him about their Dad's secret, about Sam's destiny, he'd been scared. More scared than at any time in his life. He'd made foolish decisions, letting the fear guide his actions. He'd gotten Dean kidnapped and held hostage by Gordon.

He'd almost gotten Dean killed.

_Dean_.

Sam missed his brother terribly. He didn't know how long he'd been here. He didn't even know if Dean had truly been alive back on that road when he'd last saw him. He had Jezebeth's word for it. He supposed that would have to be enough for now.

Though, he longed to see with his own eyes. He would like to have run his newly forming plan by his elder brother.

Her hands moved in around him. "You're thinking of him again…."

Sam smiled, amused. "Am I that obvious, or were you listening in again?"

When she'd first started entering his mind, she'd told him it was on his subconscious invitation. Only he could let her in or block her out. She'd neglected to mention that once invited, she could come and go as she pleased. Oddly, though, it didn't bother him. He enjoyed her presence, physically and mentally. She calmed him.

She made things clear.

But that didn't mean he was going to let his guard _completely_ down around her. He wanted to enjoy her presence, learn from her, continue to use her abilities to strengthen his own.

But he also had his boundaries, and he had to maintain them. She needed to respect them.

"I'm no snoop, Sam," she whispered in his ear. He felt the tiniest spike of fear inside her. Fear that he wouldn't believe her.

_That_ had taken some getting used to. She cared for him, he knew that, but she also feared him. She feared angering him.

After Jezebeth had unlocked his memories of that night at the crossroads, he understood why. He remembered killing the demon. And he remembered how he did it. Sam felt no remorse at the memory. After all, she'd left him no choice. She'd tried to take Dean from him.

No one did that. Not anymore. He wouldn't allow it.

Sam let the moment, and the anger, pass. What was done was done. If the crossroads demon had simply done as he'd asked, she wouldn't have had to die. She'd made her choice. He turned and looked into Jezebeth's eyes, and answered her earlier question.

"Yes, I'm thinking about my brother. I'm worried about him."

"He's alive. You saved him. You'll see him again."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, genuinely curious. At times, her prescience amazed him.

"Because you can do anything you want, now. You're powerful, Sam. You can do what you wish."

She was right about that much. He'd felt the switches---as Ava had once put it---flipping in his head. Letting go of his fear had allowed his abilities to develop freely. Visions and telekinesis had only been the beginning. His power was beyond even Jake's now.

Jezebeth was right, he was powerful. More than ever.

But, Sam was pretty sure that it meant more than that.

"It's almost time, Sam," she murmured, her arms around his waist and her cheek against his shoulder. "You're going to have to choose, soon."

Sam nodded, eyes drifting around the barren room. "I know."

"Have you made your decision yet?" she asked, seeming actually curious. Maybe she wasn't inside his head this time.

The demon leaders had visited them once during the time he'd spent here. One of them, whose name Sam couldn't pronounce, had laid out the terms of the deal, as offered to Jake.

If he chose to lead the army and command them, Sam and his family, along with any others he specifically named, would be kept safe. He'd thought about Dean, about how he'd longed to find a way to keep Dean from harm. This was a far better deal that the crossroads demon had offered.

After the war was won, they would live like kings, they would be nothing they couldn't have. Even if it was simply to live in peace. Even if it was simply to have a life with his brother, one that didn't involve death and danger.

Sam had spent many hours considering it since the demon's visit, whenever Jezebeth wasn't helping him develop his abilities.

He hoped he'd come to the right decision.

Sam also hoped Jezebeth was telling the truth and hadn't read his mind. That would be dangerous. He still didn't trust her completely, despite the kindness and training she'd given him.

Running a hand through Jezebeth's long hair, he turned to her and smiled sadly. "Yes, I have."

Her expression turned sad as well. "Then, I suppose it's time to take my leave."

She started to pull away, but Sam reached out and stopped her. "Do you _have_ to go?"

Jezebeth smiled. "You don't need me anymore, Sam. You're ready."

He frowned, glancing down, then met her eyes again. _What is that old saying? Keep your friends close…? How did it end?_ "What if I asked you to stay?"

She cocked her head, obviously surprised. "It's not part of my function here, Sam, but if you wish me to stay---"

"I do," he said firmly. …_and your enemies closer. Yes, that was it_.

"Then, I would be honored," she said softly, leaning in and kissing him.

Sam heard the door open, and pulled reluctantly away from her. Looking up, he saw Azoreth, the brutish one that had brought him here, enter. It was in its natural form, all claws, fangs, and smoke, and all but blended in with the blackness beyond the doorway.

Sam knew---from Jezebeth---that if he agreed to the demons' offer, Azoreth would be assigned as his bodyguard. It was a formidable warrior, and was capable of taking Sam anywhere he wanted to go, just as he'd transported Sam to this room.

He also knew that, if he declined their offer, Azoreth would be ordered to kill him.

_Or at least, try_, Sam thought grimly. He gave Jezebeth one last look, then closed his eyes.

_Please, forgive me, Dean_…_it's the only way_.

He looked back to Azoreth, and could somehow read the expectation on its dark, ferocious face.

"Have you decided?" it asked without preamble. Sam met its gaze calmly.

"I have."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: The Darkening Road

_Sorry for the delay, but I had a bad attack of writer's block. However, I've worked through where I want this story to go, and as it turns out, the final story will be much longer than I originally planned. _

_To that end, so that people aren't waiting too long between updates, I'm breaking this up into parts. Part 1 here will be about 5-6 chapters long, then I'll start up a second part later on, letting everyone take a break in between. There should be three parts when I'm done. _

_Special thanks to Faye Dartmouth and geminigrl11 for being excellent betas and my friend Tamar for helping me flesh the idea out for this storyline. _

_I own nothing. Reviews craved. _

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**Chapter 4: The Darkening Road**

_Ten days after Sam's disappearance…._

"Joshua! Down!" Dean shouted over the din. The big black man ducked and Dean turned his weapon on the zombie that had outflanked them. It took ten rounds to knock it off its feet.

"Damn, boy, stop trying to save bullets---they're on sale at Wal-Mart this week!" Joshua White shouted while reloading his AR-15.

"What do you want me to do? Spray lead all over the street?" Dean asked testily, picking off another zombie that was slipping and sliding towards a parked car on his right.

"When they get that close to me?" Joshua shouted back. "_Yes_!"

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Bobby and his truck were waiting just across the bridge, ready for them to make a fast getaway if things went south. The town's few remaining sheriff's deputies were also guarding the other side.

Turning his eyes forward again and seeing about one-third of the fifty-odd zombies on the street advancing towards them, Dean figured things had gone about as south as they possibly could.

The other two-thirds of the undead army were making good time getting out of Bobby's grease trap. Too good. What was worse, the fire-throwing demon didn't seem to have any trouble at all walking through the grease, and was moving towards them with a sneer on his face. _Bastard_.

"We're almost there! Just a few more feet!" Dean shouted, ducking behind another car to avoid the small fireball hurled his way. He was actually starting to feel pretty good about their chances of escape, when he heard an ominous click from Joshua's rifle.

"This one's out," Joshua said calmly, tossing the AR-15 and reaching for his backup handgun. Dean frowned.

_Well, crap_...

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_That morning_

_Sam was moving toward him, stumbling as if disoriented or hurt. He almost made it. Would have, too, if the dark nighttime air around him hadn't coalesced into a cloudy figure with claws for hands and yanked Sam's feet out from under him. _

_Dean tried to move. Tried to help. He needed to get to Sam before this thing hurt him. He couldn't move. It was a struggle even to watch._

_Sam clawed the ground wildly, trying to escape from whatever it was. The loose rocks of the road cut into his palms, slicing skin. Dean could see bloody handprints being left behind as Sam was dragged further away. _

_"DEAN!!"_

_The black cloud closed in and---_

Dean woke with a start, panting, with sweat drenching his shirt. He grimaced, forcing himself to look around. It took a few seconds for his brain to figure out where he was.

He had tossed and turned on the bed in Bobby's guest room all night. He wasn't sure whether it was the noticeably empty bed across the room that kept disturbing him, or the nightmares that plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. He kept seeing Sam in his dreams, being pulled off of that gravel road into the nothingness beyond.

It was so intense that he never managed to get past that part to whatever happened next. He got occasional glimpses as he woke up, seeing his little brother caged or strung up somewhere, but he rarely got that far before bolting upright in bed, sweating profusely.

He hadn't slept through the night in almost a week. One attempt at using sleeping pills, at Ellen's suggestion, resulted in him spending an entire night dreaming about Sam and dark, terrifying shapes, over and over again. Dean refused to try the pills again.

Once the sun peeked above the trees outside, Dean gave up even the pretense of sleep and threw the covers back. Joshua was arriving that morning to help them look for Sam. _Might_ _as well be up_ _when_ _he_ _gets_ _here_….

He'd just gotten to his feet when a sharp, overpowering pain exploded in his head.

_He was driving the Impala, passing a graveyard. All of the plots were dug out and empty..._

_A man in a black duster walked casually down a street, throwing balls of fire from his hands, blasting the windows out of old brick and wood buildings..._

_A bridge leading into town..._

_A smear of red blood, defacing a wooden sign that read WELCOME TO ST. OLAF...the population number was replaced with a bloody zero..._

Dean clutched his head and cried out, his knees going out from under him and sending him face-first into the floor...

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"What happened?" Bobby asked as he guided Dean to a seat in the kitchen.

"I...I saw something..." Dean mumbled woozily. His head was pounding in the aftermath of…whatever had happened to him.

"In your room?"

"N-no...in my head. I think it was a vision..." Dean stuttered out, rubbing his head against the splitting headache.

"A vision? Like the time…like when Sam was missing before?" Bobby asked cautiously, searching for some Advil in the pantry.

Dean thought about it. The vision _had_ felt about the same as when Andy projected to him from Cold Oak. Sam had told him about it afterwards. As distress signals went, it was certainly original. He would have expected no less from Sam. He just wished that vision had come a few minutes sooner. He turned his attention back to Bobby, who was eyeing him warily from across the room.

"Yeah, I think so. It feels the same."

The question was: who was sending him this one? Another psychic? Sam hadn't shown this ability---at least, not to his knowledge. He gratefully took the headache pills when Bobby came back.

"Great. That's all we need. Now _you're_ becoming psychic," Bobby grumbled. When Dean just glared back, he relented. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. What did you see?"

"Uh...a town, Saint...uh...Olaf. Saint Olaf. There was a man there...he was throwing freakin' fireballs from his hands. And a graveyard with all the graves dug up," he looked up into Bobby's frowning face. "I think a demon is going to destroy this town..."

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It took a while for them to find it on the map. Saint Olaf was a small---incredibly small---hamlet in southeastern Minnesota. Population was less than 400, but the town had been there since the early 1700s. As far as he and Bobby could tell, there was nothing of particular value---supernatural or otherwise---in the remote township.

Dean wondered why demons would bother with a place so unpopulated and isolated. Hell, if the map was accurate, there was only main road into town---apparently over the bridge he'd seen in the vision.

Joshua's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. "So…you gonna tell me what's going on? Or do I have to corner Bobby?"

Dean glanced at him from the passenger seat, suddenly wishing he'd driven the Impala. He had nothing against Joshua; he just would have preferred to ride alone. He turned his gaze back to the bumper of Bobby's truck, which was up ahead of them.

"What do you mean? I told you. A demon's going to trash this town."

Joshua didn't take his eyes off the road. "I mean about what Sam did."

Dean grimaced, slamming his hand down onto the door in frustration. "Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew? I'm going out of my mind! It's been _ten days_, Joshua!"

The larger man returned Dean's glare. "Yeah, ten days since your time was supposed to be up. Now, thank God you got out of that deal, but Sam had to have done something big---"

"I _don't_ _know_ what he did. All I know is he found a way to kill the crossroads demon," Dean replied irritably. It was the truth. Dean had been unconscious. _Well…dead, really. I guess_. He hadn't seen anything.

"And he got dragged off, apparently kicking and screaming. I got that much from Bobby. But, you know _something _else, Dean. That crappy-ass poker face of yours might fool Sammy and everyone else, but not me. You know something."

_Actually, it doesn't fool Sam much_…. Dean thought ruefully. He stared at Joshua's profile for a long moment, then told the truth. "I think Sam made a deal of his own. I don't know when, or for what…but I think he's done something really stupid."

Joshua was silent for a moment, staring out the van's windshield. "Maybe. Or, he might be dead, Dean. I'd hate to think it…but…."

Dean shook his head, then returned his gaze out the window. "He's not. I can feel it."

The conversation ended when Joshua's CB crackled, just as the outskirts of Saint Olaf came into view. The first landmark Dean noticed was an old wooden church, set off of the road and surrounded by some sort of circular garden.

Bobby's voice came through the speaker. "_There's the town. Where to now, Dean?_"

Dean took the mike and hit the send button. "Let's head through town first. That cemetery I saw should only be a block or two from here." He could already see a grove of trees past the few buildings that probably marked its edge.

There was little or nothing of interest going on in the town as they crossed the small bridge and drove down what appeared to be the main street. The _lack_ of something actually seemed more ominous. Thinking unhappily of River Grove, Dean asked the obvious question, "Where is everybody?"

There wasn't a soul moving on the streets, but there were a few parked cars. Some of the windows were dark, and even the ones with lights on were clearly empty. Most of the windows were dark, though, and even the ones with lights on were clearly empty. Some of the doors were standing open, revealing cleaned-out, deserted spaces.

Farther down the street, Dean saw a few more substantial signs of life, but they weren't encouraging. Several people could be seen boarding up the windows and barricading the doors of some of the shops. They weren't wasting any time, either.

"That's always a good sign," Joshua muttered, watching the people work as they passed. Dean frowned.

Moving on, they came to a wrought-iron fence that marked the edge of the town's large cemetery. Dean had wondered, when researching this place, why a town with such a small population had so much space for burying the dead. Apparently, from what they'd found, this cemetery served about four towns.

Ahead of them, at the gated entrance, he saw four police cars lined up along the side of the road. Another ominous sign. A burned out, smoldering hulk of a car stood at the side of the road a little further up. The sound of gunfire could be heard clearly through the windows of the van, and Dean caught sight of a half-dozen sheriff's deputies taking cover behind the cars and unloading on…something inside the cemetery.

Dean frowned and again stated the obvious. "I'd say whatever we're looking for is already here."

Bobby's truck lurched to a stop just before the line of police cars. Joshua pulled alongside. Their arrival had been drowned out by the gunfight. Dean rolled the window down at Bobby's gesture.

"So, what now?" Bobby asked. "You're still a wanted man, Dean."

Dean craned his neck out the window, trying to see what the cops were firing so wildly at. He didn't see anyone, but he did see a ball of fire---a _ball_ _of_ _fucking_ _fire_---about the size of a basketball lance out of the cemetery and plow into one of the parked cars. A middle-aged man, whose uniform was more decorated than the others, called for everyone to get away from the burning automobile. Dean figured that guy was the sheriff.

Unfortunately, the sheriff wasn't as quick to fall back as the others, and the car's explosion knocked him off his feet. The deputies were too busy dodging another flung fireball to help their boss.

That's when the source of the attack came into view. A balding, gray-haired man, wearing all black clothes under a black duster---and looking for all the world to Dean like the creepy old bad guy in _Phantasm_---strolled closer to the gates.

Tossing out flaming bombs with his _bare_ hands.

Laughing when a deputy caught one in the leg had to be put out by his comrades.

Dean recognized the man's clothes and weapon of choice from the vision.

Then the man, undoubtedly possessed, turned his attention on the downed sheriff.

"Shit!" Dean hissed, not needing a vision to tell him what was going to happen next. He'd be damned if he was just going to sit and watch.

He jumped from van and took off toward the endangered sheriff. He covered the forty or so feet between them in record time, snatching the slightly shorter man in a rolling tackle as another fireball slammed into the pavement where they'd just been.

He hadn't realized that he'd closed his eyes until he heard the clicks of about four guns somewhere over his head. Dean opened them to find four of the deputies aiming their weapons at him. Their expressions varied from surprise, to suspicion, to outright terror. Slowly, he released the sheriff and held his hands out in surrender.

"It's okay, fellas…" the older man said as he waved them back. He crouched behind the car they'd landed beside. "You just saved my life, kid. Thank you. Excuse the rudeness, but I gotta ask, who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"

"Dean…and I thought you could use some help," Dean replied with a smirk.

Another fireball flew over their heads, causing the sheriff to duck behind the car. "Don't see how you can help with this crazy shit, son…."

Dean pushed himself up so that he could see over the car's hood. "You'd be surprised. Let me guess, you've hit him, but he won't go down?"

The sheriff frowned, clearly curious as to why he should share anything with a stranger, but then he made up his mind and nodded once. "Only about ten times. It's like he's bullet-proof. I'd thought he was wearing a vest, but you can see the blood."

Squinting, Dean could see that it was true. The old man's shirt was drenched in blood. Whoever the poor guy was, he wasn't going to live through an exorcism. "You know him, Sheriff…?"

"Nyland. Charlie Nyland. And yeah, he's the groundskeeper here. We got a call from one of my men…said Old Willie there was doing something to the plots, digging them all out---"

"Willie?" Dean asked with a bemused snort. "_Groundskeeper_ _Willie_?" That was awesome. He hoped the guy was Scottish like the _Simpsons_ character. That'd make his friggin' week.

Nyland rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the remark. "Then we heard something about a flamethrower. By the time we got here, my man was gone. That burning car was all that was left."

From where they were crouched, Dean could see the first few rows of plots were indeed dug out. And, as though that wasn't bad enough, the holes weren't empty. Human-shaped things were working their way up onto the level ground. Most of them were little more than bones and leather-like flesh, so they were having a hard time extricating themselves.

Even from where Dean was, he could see the grass rapidly turning brown, and the nearest trees were losing their leaves. The ground was rotting around the moving corpses.

Zombies. _Great…._

The sheriff grimly noticed what Dean was staring at. "Yeah. I know. I saw them too."

Dean was about to answer when one of the deputies fired off three rounds in the demon's direction. He crooked his thumb at the gun. "You aren't gonna stop him with those. You and your men need to fall back before he comes over that fence, or he's gonna kill all of us."

Sure enough, the groundskeeper was moving towards the iron gates. Sheriff Nyland grabbed Dean's shoulder. "_What_ is he? I've heard of people hopped up on drugs…but this is unreal!"

Dean blew a frustrated breath out between his teeth. It was music time. "He's possessed. There's a demon inside him."

In another time and place, he would have laughed when all of the deputies' heads snapped toward him in unison, each man wearing a stunned expression. Only one deputy spoke.

"That's the craziest fucking thing I've ever heard! What are you, high?"

Nyland silenced the man with a gesture. "I've been a cop for thirty years. I've never seen anything like this." He shrugged. "Guys, I don't have any better ideas. Willie has a dozen holes in him and is throwing _fire_ at us."

The deputies seemed to reluctantly accept the logic, which pleased Dean, since he didn't want to go ten rounds on the "that can't be real" front just now. They didn't have the time.

The demon reached the gate and the bars swung open with a squeal. Both of the possessed man's hands were glowing, and tendrils of flame were leaping up and swirling in the air around them.

All six crouched men scrambled backwards as the demon released the bolts of flame. Two of the sheriff's patrol cars exploded, one of them flipped over by the force. Willie strolled silently around the burning wreckage and flames started swirling around his hands again as he came around to face them. Dean pushed the sheriff back towards the other side of the road, but he knew they weren't going to get away fast enough.

The explosive blast of a shotgun filled the air to the right and behind them. Willie clutched the steaming hole in his chest and staggered back. Another shot forced him to back away from the cowering deputies. Dean snapped his head around to find Joshua standing a few feet back, near the first car Dean had been behind, 12-gauge in hand.

Willie raised his hand toward Joshua, but Bobby appeared beside him, pumping two more shotgun shells into the possessed man. Steam rose from the groundskeeper's chest, and he released an unearthly howl of pain before retreating back towards the cemetery gates.

The sheriff looked up at the hunters in astonishment. "He's hurt by shotguns?"

"When the shells are packed with holy water, he is," Joshua explained tersely. He pulled Dean to his feet, then bent to help the sheriff. "Nice town you got here."

"Was nicer yesterday," Nyland replied. "So, holy water can kill that thing?"

"No," Dean shook his head as he stepped to the sheriff's side. "Just hurts like hell. He'll come back angrier."

As if on cue, the sound of furious chanting drifted from the cemetery. Dean strained to hear the words, but couldn't quite make them out. It sounded vaguely like ancient Greek, but intertwined with another language that Dean didn't recognize.

_Sam would have_…. The growing depression this afternoon's action had distracted him from threatened to pull him under again. The only thing that kept him going was believing that Sam had sent him here---sent him for a reason. He needed to stay focused and figure out what it was.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time for that now. The continuing chant was causing more graves to churn up. The first few rows were now uncovered, and more of the reanimated bodies were clawing their way up out of the ground.

Dean wasn't alone in his observations. Nyland saw the same thing, and turned gravely to Dean. "Keeps getting better. You fellas seem to understand this stuff. Got any ideas?"

Dean bit his lip and looked to Bobby and Joshua, finding them staring at him as well. He and Sam had been the first hunters to actually tackle a bona fide zombie in years. Thankfully, the vicious little bastards were rare.

"The zombies won't be easy to stop if they get loose. They're almost mindless killing machines. Love to snap necks, slit throats…all kinds of fun. The only thing we found to kill them was nailing them back into their grave beds."

Sheriff Nyland glanced to Willie and back. "If they get out of the graveyard and into the town…it could be a slaughterhouse. Everybody's locked up, tried to prepare themselves. But they've got no defense against this."

"How much do the people in town know?" Dean asked. He remembered seeing those people boarding up windows up the street. Mass panic wouldn't be pretty if it broke out here.

"Word travels fast," Nyland answered. "But, all they know is some wacko with a flamethrower was fighting with us. Hell, I heard a few of the calls on the way here. Couple people think it's a terrorist attack."

Dean pursed his lips in thought. "That might be helpful. Easier to believe at any rate. You gotta map?"

Nyland pointed to the remaining car. "In the seat. You got something in mind?"

"Maybe." Dean moved over to the parked car and grabbed the small, laminated town map. He scanned it quickly, trying to ignore the rising volume of the chanting coming from up the hill. Most of the town was ringed by blue, including the graveyard, and Dean remembered the river they'd crossed coming in.

"This water?"

Nyland looked and nodded. "Streams, plus the bigger creek that runs under the bridge. They connect further out. I think it was a natural perimeter back in the days when the town was founded. Easy to defend against Indian raids."

"Might be a good defense today, too," Dean mused. "You got any priests in town?" When Nyland nodded, he continued. "Find 'em and get them to the streams. Have them bless the water. We gotta keep them demon here so we can exorcise it. Holy water surrounding the town should work nicely."

Nyland narrowed his eyes. "Okay…once he's boxed in, then what?"

Dean glanced at the demon, who was busily chanting and raising more zombies. They needed to get moving before things got any uglier. "Leave that to us. Just get those priests to the streams. Then try and get some of the townspeople out if you can. Limit the damage these things are gonna do."

Nyland considered that, following Dean's glance to the demon. "All right. The water's shallow on the west side of town. We can start getting people across and away from the--- Well, away from _them_."

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As the sheriff rounded up his remaining deputies and started barking orders, Dean turned to Bobby and Joshua. They didn't look happy.

"I noticed," Joshua began sourly, "that you didn't mention how we're gonna _stop_ those zombies."

Dean shrugged, feeling a smidgeon of excitement. He hadn't felt like this in weeks. "I can't think of _everything_."

Bobby was eyeing the demon. "Dean, that zombie you two took out last year…wasn't there a symbol carved into the coffin?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, this guy isn't stopping to carve anything; he's using a spoken spell."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "So, maybe if we take him out, whatever hold he has over them breaks?" Bobby just shrugged. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"All he has to do is send those zombies after us," Joshua pointed out grimly.

Bobby perked up, suddenly, turning toward his truck. "Had an idea about that. Let me get my grease gun."

Dean and Joshua glanced at each other, confused. The junk dealer returned just as Joshua shrugged, plunking down a decidedly mundane-looking gas-powered, airless paint sprayer. Joshua just stared at it. "What the hell is that?"

"When Dean and Sam had trouble cornering that zombie last year," Bobby explained, "I started thinking about ways to slow them down. I found this."

"You're gonna spray paint in their eyes?" Dean asked, still not connecting the dots.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Dean, you need to get more sleep. _Grease_. We spray grease down in front of them. This stuff's ten times more slippery than ice. Spray the road and they'll be falling all over themselves. Hell, worst case, maybe we can ignite the grease and burn them all up."

Dean glanced back at the cemetery, where the demon had about fifteen zombies clawing their way onto solid ground. They needed to do something now. Inspiration struck.

"You got another one of these?" he asked, pointing to the grease gun.

"Yeah, got a second one in the truck."

"All right, then. I think I know what to do," Dean said. "We just need to get his attention."

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It took about an hour for Bobby to get everything ready. Dean sat impatiently in the back of Joshua's van, the doors open, listening to the demon's constant chanting. Fortunately, it was a slow process. The demon hadn't made much progress.

Ten more graves had been opened, and the newcomers were clawing their way out of the ground. The zombies already reanimated milled about near the demon, as if awaiting instructions. Dean hoped that meant Bobby was right, and taking out the possessed groundskeeper would cut their strings.

He turned his eyes to Joshua's impressive cache of weaponry.

Joshua's arsenal rivaled John Winchester's. It always had. Dean and Sam had always figured that their Dad was competing with him. Probably just the fact that Joshua was ex-Army to Dad's ex-Marine. Even with their chaotic lives after the fire, inter-service rivalry had still been a big thing to Dad. The Army-Navy game was one of the few things the man had made time to watch on TV. Apparently, that rivalry had extended to Joshua, their resident ex-Army ranger.

"Geez, Joshua…you got an AR-15 back here," Dean exclaimed. The pistol-sized weapon was basically a stripped down military M-16 rifle, reduced so it could be carried in one hand. Dean examined the gun more closely. "Dude…this is full-auto. You can't buy 'em like that."

Joshua grinned, pleased by the admiration, though not taking his eyes off the growing army of undead. "Upgrade kit. It's amazing what you can find on the Internet."

"_All right, Dean. I'm in position_," Bobby's voice filtered through the CB. Joshua handed the mike to Dean, who was crouched in the back of the van.

"Okay. Here goes. Just make sure you get it covered up before we get to you. We won't be long."

Dean pulled the exorcism rite he'd copied from _The Key of Solomon_ out of his bag and unfolded the paper. It was a special exorcism, one that didn't require the target to be trapped or restrained. As long as Dean stayed in line of sight, he could exorcise the demon anywhere. The demon didn't even have to hear the words, so long as Dean could see it.

He was counting on the demon figuring that part out. So long as it didn't figure out why Dean didn't _finish_ reading it, and got mad enough to follow them to Bobby.

Glancing at the page to find his place, he started reciting, glancing up to gauge reaction. As he reached the end of the first stanza, he saw the demon whirl around to look at them, fury contorting the possessed old man's face. Another stanza had the demon staggering back, assaulted by the words that it could _feel_ but not hear. Dean had no doubt that, by now, the demon knew what was causing its discomfort.

Abruptly, he recalled that _Sam_ usually performed the exorcisms. His little brother was always better at Latin. Dean squelched that distracting line of thought and focused on reading.

He was halfway through the next section when he got the reaction he'd been waiting for. The demon's chanting stopped, and it raised its arm toward Dean and the van. The zombies that were milling around turned---eerily, all at the same time---and about a dozen started moving down the hill toward the gate.

The majority had been created from older, more decomposed corpses, and Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief at that. The zombie he and Sam hunted was "fresh," and moved pretty fast, if clumsily. Seeing the almost classic skeletal zombies here--- _This ought to be a pushover…._

Dean kept reading, watching the advancing zombies carefully. His hand tightened around the handle to Bobby's grease gun. When they shuffled and lunged their way onto the road, he raised the sprayer and shot a powerful stream of grease onto the pavement. Two sweeps left a large puddle across the width of the road, ten feet behind the van.

The undead attackers didn't recognize it as a threat, as expected, and didn't even slow down. They'd spread into a rough double line, and when the first few reached the unthreatening looking puddle, they went down like bowling pins.

A few managed to yelp, with whatever remained of their vocal cords.

The second row reacted in confusion, but kept moving, and within a second they too were writhing around on the super-slick road, unable to get back to their feet.

One managed to scramble over the backs of its fallen comrades. It made it to the other side of the puddle and kept approaching. Dean dropped the sprayer and raised his 9mm. The first three shots did little, but the fourth jolted it hard enough for it to stagger back, where its foot caught the edge of the puddle. It too went down.

A triumphant grin broke Dean's face. _Bobby, you're a genius!_ Joshua's whoop of excitement seconded Dean's unspoken praise. Dean read some more from the exorcism. It was an ancient, long-winded rite, which was another reason Dean had picked it. The longer the better, since he needed to keep this demon's focus on him.

He didn't have long to wait. An unearthly roar of rage echoed across the cemetery, as the demon sent another wave of zombies at them. This group was more agile, less decrepit, and worse, they made straight for the low iron fence, climbing over it---and each other---in their angry rush to reach the van.

Dean sprayed another swath of ground, creating a moat around the back of the van. "Joshua! Move up!"

The other hunter didn't question him, and the van rolled forward a few feet, leaving more room between them and their wannabe attackers. Dean took aim and blew the kneecaps off one zombie that was trying to angle around the puddle. Bullets didn't do much beyond slow them down, but since a lot of these things were---literally---falling apart with age, the bullets could sever limbs.

The demon was moving their way. Apparently, he was angry enough to join in the fun this time. _Good_, Dean thought. _Just_ _what_ _it_ _needs_ _to_ _do_….

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It was only a five minute drive from the cemetery to the bridge. Maybe less. There was little chance of Dean's plan failing that fast.

But it did.

All they had to do was lead the demon to the bridge where Bobby was waiting. The zombies were a problem, but Dean figured they could hold off the demon's undead troops long enough to lure then all through the town. He'd unloaded three of his handguns and one of Joshua's AR-15s doing just that.

They had retreated down the street, letting the zombies and their controlling demon get close, then tie them up in another quickly sprayed grease trap, all the while luring the demon closer to the bridge by continuing the exorcism.

They were three-quarters of the way there, Joshua speeding up for about half-a-block to gain some distance, when the advance was abruptly stopped by the untimely arrival of the sheriff's last patrol car. Taken by surprise, Joshua slammed on the brakes to keep from ramming the sheriff's vehicle. He didn't have time to warn his passenger.

Dean was thrown out of the open rear doors, clear of the van, landing five feet away and scattering bullets and shotgun shells everywhere. His gun went flying.

Fortunately, they hadn't been moving that fast, so Dean got away with just a few scrapes and a torn shirt.

But, the delay cost them valuable time, and the advancing zombies were moving clear of Dean's latest grease trap by the time Joshua had scrambled out of the van.

Struggling to his feet, trying to shake off his abrupt meeting with the asphalt, Dean looked up in time to see the demon coming through his crowd of stumbling and slipping henchmen. Old Willie was smugly grinning, spinning another fireball out of his left hand. Until now, they'd managed to stay far enough ahead so that the demon never had a clear shot.

Dean knew he wasn't going to have time to react. The flaming ball was already glowing brightly, and he saw the old man raise his arm, ready to hurl it Dean's way.

He never got to see the rest. From his crouched position on the road, Dean felt something heavy crash into his side, rolling him to the side of the two-lane street and knocking the wind out of him. He skidded to a halt, behind a parked car, feeling the sharp pain of a rock imbedding itself into his shoulder blade. The faint heat of the fire ball traveled over his feet and harmlessly blasted the road about ten feet away from him.

Coughing, he looked up, half-expecting to see Joshua. Instead, he saw Sheriff Nyland looking down at him with a smirk on his face.

"I owed you one."

Dean grinned. "Thanks."

Nyland helped him to his feet, both men staying low behind the car they'd used as cover. "Looks like you've been keeping these guys busy."

"Trying to. We're leading them to the bridge," Dean whispered. "You guys get to the priests?"

Nyland nodded. "Only one. The other said he was heading to the old church to make sure it was safe. Whatever that means. I can't imagine how he could stop these things from doing whatever the hell they want, but…. Anyway, Father Beeson blessed the two creeks. Willie---or whatever's in him---is trapped in town now."

"Hey, Dean! If you two are done horsing around over there, I could use some help!" Joshua shouted from beside his stopped van. He was laying a new trap on the road with the sprayer in one hand, and firing off rounds with his AR-15 in the other. Two of the town's deputies were joining in with their service revolvers, trying to pick off some of the bad guys.

Dean slid over and retrieved his dropped paper with the exorcism scribbled on it, glancing back at Nyland. "Our friend Bobby is just over the bridge. Why don't you and your deputies head back and make sure our escape route isn't cut off?"

"What are you gonna do?" Nyland asked skeptically.

It was Dean's turn to smirk. "I'm gonna get my gun back."

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"We're almost there! Just a few more feet!" Dean shouted, ducking behind another car to avoid the small fireball hurled his way. He was actually starting to feel pretty good about their chances of escape, when he heard an ominous click from Joshua's rifle.

"This one's out," Joshua said calmly, tossing the AR-15 and reaching for his backup handgun.

_Well, crap_...

Joshua was down to his last gun. Dean had two more clips left for his 9mm. The road in front of them was a wreck. Several cars and a few store fronts were burning and still more cars were riddled with bullet holes. The whole street looked like a war zone.

And they still had to get across the bridge.

Dean looked back, seeing Bobby waiting impatiently on the other side, near the sheriff and two of his deputies. The older hunter had left a large puddle of grease, from his second sprayer, across the span of the bridge. Getting across it to safety was gonna be fun. There was just one last move to make before he and Joshua could withdraw.

"Cover me!" Dean shouted, pulling the grease sprayer from where he'd been wearing it over his shoulder. He ducked under Joshua, who was firing on two more zombies that had gotten close.

Starting on his left, Dean sprayed the grease in a rough semi-circle, creating a slippery, five-foot wide moat around the mouth of the bridge. The sprayer finally ran out just as he closed the circle.

"That's it. Let's make a run for it!" Dean shouted, discarding the now empty tool.

They took off, reaching the bridge just as the zombies collapsed in the greasy moat left for them. Running, both hunters dropped to their sides as they reached the large patch of grease on the bridge, sliding like baseball players. Dean remembered playing a little in high school. Well, for one year, anyway. One of the few times they'd stayed in one town for the whole school session.

Once across, Bobby and Nyland helped the men to their feet, a feat made difficult by their now slippery boots. Dean looked behind them. The remaining zombies were tangled up at the other end, but the demon---as expected---wasn't. It was just stepping onto the bridge. It hesitated upon seeing them.

Dean waved at it, shouting and waving the exorcism rite in the air. "You still wanna piece of me? Come closer so I can kick your ass!"

His taunts had the desired effect. The demon snarled and strode forward angrily, spinning two balls of flame above its outstretched hands. A murderous gleam lit eyes that were focused solely on Dean.

It kept walking as it reached the last grease trap, ignoring it and not slowing down. As with the others, the demon had no trouble, somehow walking across without losing traction. It reached the other side of the puddle, about ten feet from Dean's side of the bridge, and froze. It reacted as if hitting an invisible wall.

Dean grinned, satisfied. "Whoops. Look before you leap, dude…."

The demon cocked its head, confused, then dropped its eyes to the bridge. Dean could see the realization dawning on the possessed man's face. Willie hurled the fireballs down, at the bridge.

The grease caught fire, and through the puddle, the pentagram encircled runes of a devil's trap glowed a fiery orange. The demon-created flames couldn't touch it.

A few of the deputies let out a victorious yell. Dean didn't indulge in it.

Without warning, the demon erupted like a geyser from the old man's mouth and eyes. The black cloud circled around and down, blasting against the devil's trap. But even in its natural form, it couldn't escape, and simply roiled like a living fog along the circle.

Released, the old groundskeeper's body, no longer animated by its occupant, slumped over and dropped to the ground. Behind him, Dean could see the remaining zombies dropping like puppets with cut strings. Bobby's theory was right, whatever power the demon had used to reanimate the corpses didn't continue after its capture. The trap rendered the creature powerless---at least outside of the circle.

Dean sighed, relieved. Nyland stepped up beside him and motioned to Willie's unmoving body. "Is he…?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded sadly. "He was already gone back at the cemetery. I'm sorry."

Nyland shook his head. "We didn't know. Christ, Willie…."

Dean settled against the edge of the bridge, resting. Bobby and Joshua stepped over to him.

"Good work, kiddo," Joshua smiled. "Your old man would be proud."

Dean nodded, shaking the big man's hand. "You, too."

Bobby, however, didn't look happy. "You know, we still don't know why that thing was even here. Why this town?"

The adrenaline high of the running firefight was already wearing off, and Dean's lack of sleep was catching up to him. But, they still had work to do.

"Let's ask it, then…."

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Dean rested against the tailgate of Bobby's truck, listening to Bobby and Joshua interrogate the demon on the bridge. They'd been at it for two hours, splashing holy water into the roiling black cloud, watching it steam and howl in rage.

They weren't getting anywhere. The bastard wasn't talking. And holy water wasn't nearly as effective when the demon was in its natural, fog like form. The drops tended to go right through without hurting it.

He'd tried to take part, wanted to. But, he was exhausted. Running around fighting an army of zombies, on top of nearly two weeks of sleepless nights had caught up with him. It was all he could do to stay awake.

He had no energy to fight off the wave of depression that had settled over him once the adrenaline had faded. All he could think of now was Sam. Not knowing whether his brother was alive or dead, despite the front he'd put up for Joshua. Not knowing if it was Sam who'd projected the vision that led them all to this town or something else. Not knowing why a demon would set its sights on this backwater outpost in the first place.

There were too many questions, no answers, and he couldn't muster enough strength to give a damn one way or another.

He just wanted his brother back. Wanted to go back to the way things were before Sam had been taken to Cold Oak. Before Sam had been stabbed. Killed. Before he'd been desperate enough to deal with that damned crossroads demon.

Back then, all they'd been worried about was the yellow-eyed demon's next appearance, being chased by the FBI, and Sam's tragic experience with Madison. Simple things.

Dean chuckled, but felt no humor. It felt like _ten_ years had passed since those days, instead of just one.

He was so lost in his wandering thoughts that he didn't notice the person who joined him on the truck, being snapped out of it only by the dip when the newcomer sat down beside him.

"You look troubled, son…." Father Beeson said softly. The priest had joined them to watch the interrogation, after returning from the evacuation efforts, claiming that in his fifty years of service to the Church, he'd never seen an honest-to-God demon before.

Dean figured the man should feel more _lucky_ than left out.

"Not much you can help me with, Padre," Dean drawled quietly, watching Joshua sprinkling holy water and questioning their prisoner again.

Sheriff Nyland had stayed behind to keep an eye on things, while his deputies had blocked off the road into town so they wouldn't be disturbed. The town's population had been gathered on the other side of one of the streams they'd fled through, waiting to go back to their homes once the "terrorist attack" had been cleaned up.

Father Beeson seemed unusually calm, for a priest who'd never seen a true demon before. And, he was still watching Dean despite the young man's statement.

"Now, now, my boy. It always helps to talk to someone. No matter how big the problem seems."

Dean's mind went immediately back to Sam. His little brother was the only person he'd ever really opened up to. He glanced at the clergyman wearily. _What's the harm, really?_

"My brother…he's missing," Dean admitted, motioning to the captive demon. "I think those things have him. I should be looking for him, but I have no idea where to start. I don't even really know if he's still alive."

The words, just the opposite of what he'd told Joshua that morning, tasted bitter in his mouth. Dirty.

"You have to have faith," Beeson replied. The notion irritated Dean. Faith had never gotten him far.

"Faith has never really helped my family, Padre. Just kicked us in the ass. Besides, I don't think God answers prayers the way you guys claim He does." _Sure hasn't answered mine…._

Beeson smiled ruefully, looking over at the demon. "Oh, I don't know. When the sheriff came to us this afternoon, and told us that something we've always feared but never seen was coming, I think The Lord answered my prayers. He sent us you."

Dean huffed. "Bet you never thought you'd wake up to a zombie invasion, huh?"

The priest shook his head. "No, can't say that I have. I'm just relieved that they didn't get to the crypt."

It took a second for the man's words to register. Dean looked over sharply, eyeing the priest with suspicion, and a sudden ill feeling.

"_What_ crypt?"

TBC


End file.
